Adam
by Clannadlvr
Summary: The Eve of Witches has begun her quest without her guardian...
1. Default Chapter

Title: Adam

Chapter: Prologue

Author: Clannadlvr

Fandom: Witch Hunter Robin, post series

Rating: R due to violent content and occasional harsh language.

A/N: As someone who is supersensitive to issues of plagiarism, I'm staying away from reading most WHR writing until this story is really on a roll. However, I have read a great deal of merisann's work and wanted to mention that here. Her characterizations seem spot on to me and have helped me with the way I'm looking at Amon, Robin, etc. Also, while her notion of Robin's expanded consciousness, from the final episode of WHR, in "The Disappearing Life" is similar to the concept I'm using, I'm trying to develop it in a different direction. Just want to show credit where inspiration is due!

WHR is the property of Bandai/Sunrise. This is for entertainment only.

* * *

**Time: _Now_**

'_No. No, no, no, no. Oh god. Not now. I haven't made up my mind. I haven't found the solution. I can't be like her. I erased that part of me long ago. No…no…fuck…no…'_

Robin sat on the edge of the tub, silent, as she watched the figure in front of her thrash about, swimming in and out of consciousness. It seemed like the best place for this poor soul to be right now…in its own element, no matter how much it seemed to vex and disturb. In fact, the motions of this too pale body were much calmer now than the raving of earlier that afternoon. Still, she kept the water level low in case of a fainting spell.

Being the Eve of witches wasn't exactly the easiest of jobs at times.

Still, at least she'd been able to prepare, somewhat, for today. For the past few weeks, as she'd continued the frantic pace of running, hiding, and collecting information that had been her life for almost two years, there had been an itch at the back of her mind. Robin had brushed it off, forcing it into the black, as she'd had to do with all the other souls of witches that attached themselves to her very consciousness. Three years of hearing their cries had made it easier to sort through them, knowing when a soul was truly in anguish or, very simply, just afraid.

'_There's a forest…a jungle…how did I get here? It's filled with every creature I know and don't know yet still know all the same. They're changing…crying…screaming…make them stop!'_

She'd never thought that she'd get used to the deaths, the way her whole body seemed to shake as a soul passed from the casing of a witch. No matter how fractured their minds were when they left this plane, either through a bullet, or an act of fate, sometimes even by their own hand, she felt the clarity and purity of their souls, like a tiny cherished mole ripped from her skin. Death had become her life.

But…occasionally there was respite from the unending loss. She'd sense an awakening and all the fear and grief and madness made sense. A soul would understand its worth…and she'd have one more creature that she could lead to the light, intervening before the race of men deemed it impure and deviant.

Down the garden path, as it were, but this time the clearing was full of eternal life and beauty, without the punishment of damnation.

'_The water…it's all around me…filling my lungs…my veins…my soul. I want to breathe it…swim in it…be it…. Just so easy to let go and become it. But…no…no…no…I won't submit. I'm still me…I'm still human.'_

She tried to find every soul that awakened. Her quest had led her from the shambles of the Factory in Japan…to the wilds of Africa…through the smog infested streets of Middle America…around the caps of ice in the northern lands… There were times when the witch went mad before she could intervene, with Solomon continuing to dole out fate like a street corner barker. More often than not, though, she got there first. Teaching the witch the Truth…leading the witch to control…

And peace.

Yet no soul had called out to her as keenly as the one before her now.

'_Water is dirty…filled with sludge…and blood…and witches' spit. Spit it out, you fool…burn it from your body like maggots and lice…Do. Not. Give. In'. _

She'd heard the voice of this witch in her dreams, waking her from her sleep, as if cold, briny water had been thrown upon her head. The voice, strong, plaintive, struggling for control, had been impossible to ignore. Her instincts, honed by genetics and fate, had led her to the location of the awakening. She barely remembered the trip through the airport now, customs simply a barrier to be pushed through as she glided toward the child in turmoil.

No, not a child. True, they were all God's children, yet this particular soul seemed different from the rest. Elemental. Basic. Father, lover, lump of clay all in one.

'_It spins…fills me with bile and blood and I see her. Oh, god, I see her like I've wanted to since it all crashed down…the pomegranate that looks so succulent, irresistible…yet…still…I have free will_…'

He continued to thrash blindly, the water sloshing over the sides of the tub. And while he didn't seem to be hurting himself like when she'd found him, curled in a cot in an Essex flophouse, clawing at flesh with nails coated in grime, his soul had yet to accept its fate.

"Trust me and walk toward your future," she said softly, reaching over the lip of the tub to stroke his moistened hair. "Embrace your true self."

"I will be here when you wake, Amon."

tbc


	2. Chapter 1: Surfacing

**Chapter 1: Surfacing**

A/N: A huge thanks to Auntie Mom for the great beta and the continued encouragement. I really appreciate it! Ialso really digall the feedback, everyone...hope you enjoy the next chapter. Angst, ahoy! Danger, ahoy! w00t!

A/N 2: This chapter starts a few weeks after the events at the Factory, then flashes back to where"Time to Tell" left off...

* * *

**Time: _Then_**

_Month One_

Darkness. Total and complete, to the point where memories of what light looks like have faded away and even the night's sky would hold more brilliance than the entirety of this place. Time passes even though it has no meaning in the darkness.

_Month Two_

The first time a pinprick of light intrudes, it's terrifying. But terror is the first feeling this soul, a relative blank slate in incarceration, has experienced since the blackness descended. And the only feeling. Terror becomes misery, and grief, and love, and lust, all in one.

_Month Three_

He exists. He knows this for the first time since that initial moment of darkness. He must exist because if he has terror…if he fears…then he is something. Someone. And, though the blackness has become everything…he knows there is more. Something more that he needs to find. It's calling to him… He can almost touch the edges of the darkness now, rubbing at them till they become paper thin. He is on the verge, through sheer will, working away at the darkness…

_Month Four_

The first thing he's aware of is a beep. A rapidly increasing beep beep beep that seems to come from somewhere inside him. He tries to listen more closely, to find out where it's coming from, but the harder he tries….the more quickly it slips away.

The next thing he is conscious of, a lifetime later, is the sound of the beeping again…but this time, there are voices. He hears snippets of conversation, but can't seem to make sense of who is speaking, what they're saying…

… "_been like this for over three months, Doc. Can't you do anything to keep him up? If…"_

… "_extent of the damage is unknown, sir. The contusions…the concussion…"_

… "_can come back, I'll need to talk to him. I'll wire the money the usual way…"_

He's not sure if the words are fading in and out, or if it's he who moves from here to there. In fact, he's not really sure about anything. About where he is or what happened to make his body unresponsive to the signals he tries to send. Where he was before he ended up this place where sound exists. His brain can't seem to make the connection to why he would be in such a place. Even the details of who he is seem to be fragments in his jumbled mind.

In fact, there are only two things he's sure of; two names that run through his head, chasing after each other through the haze of pain and numbness that ebbs and flows.

_Amon. Robin._

He's pretty sure that one of those names is his own. And he knows that the other is vital to his existence. But why?

… "_responding better to the treatment than we expected, but it will still be a few months…"_

… "_can't hound you about it anymore, I know, but he's all I've got, in a crazy, screwed up…"_

… "_do our best, sir…"_

"Robin…" he whispers, in a bout of strength.

As he drifts off, he vaguely feels a hand frantically grip his own. He's too tired to care about the urgent voice, someone saying that name…_Amon_…and lets himself sink back into the darkness. But as he slips away…he hears one last fragment.

_... "I know, little brother. I know. I'll keep her…"_

_Month Five_:

Staying awake is easier now and the connections that eluded him before are simply made. But he's grateful for the amount he sleeps because it saves him from the living hell of not being able to move; one leg and one arm are immobilized in metal contraptions, his ribcage wrapped tightly, and his eyes shooting with pain if he looks directly into the light. True, sleep saves him from his discomfort, but it also takes him away from the worst aspect of his current condition:

The constant questions that plague his mind.

Every day since he's regained full consciousness, fleeting though it may be, is met the same way, with the same questions. Where is she? What happened after they entered the woods? Did Nagira find her? Is she alive? Has her craft grown beyond her control? Last, but by no means least, what kind of a watchdog loses his charge during his first hour on the job?

And while he seems to remember Nagira's presence in this place, somewhere on the edges of his semi-conscious memory, he hasn't seen his brother in the five months since the Factory. He only knows it's been that long from the chatter of the nurse who bathes him every day. Try as he might, all of his memories begin with the sound of warning klaxons…

_Flashback: The Factory, five months before_

"Let's go."

Amon barely nodded as Robin turned from the laboratory door. He didn't have to ask to know what she'd done, just like he knew that it would torture and comfort her by turns when they got away from this place.

When. Not "if." He wouldn't accept their demise as a possibility.

Amon raced down the hallway with his ward and Karasuma, straining his ears and his eyesight to figure the proximity of the gunshots and explosions that rocked the Factory. The slight, acrid scent of smoke began to fill the subterranean air, the filtration system no longer doing its job.

Wait, that was it. That was the answer. It called to him and in some dim corner of his mind he realized that this was more than just simple intuition. But that didn't matter in the face of salvation found.

"The ducts," Amon shouted.

"What?" Robin asked, blinking against the ever increasing smoke.

He shot a look toward Karasuma, saw her eyes widen in understanding as she looked at the wall near the elevator. The self destruct system had already begun a series of explosions, shattering walls like the one in front of them. The gaping hole exposed a jagged entrance to the ventilation shaft.

"In there?" Robin asked, her eyes wide with fear.

"Yes," he answered in a clipped tone. "There is no way that we will make it out of the building by going upward. Sideways is now our best bet."

Robin seemed to be searching his eyes for something, some sort of reassurance that this was the right way to go, that he would keep her safe. Her chin shook, whether from nerves or the vibration of the dying building he couldn't be sure, but it seemed like she'd found her answer.

No quaver entered her voice as she said, "I trust you, Amon."

An odd sort of terror and relief went racing down into Amon's gut at her words, but he pushed it all aside. "Karasuma, you go first, Robin, in the middle, and I'll bring up the rear. Quickly."

The duct was a tight fit for someone of his stature, but he shuffled in after Karasuma and Robin, lying on his belly and using his elbows to pull himself along the ribbed sheet metal tube.

At first, their journey was uneventful and silent, the only sounds those of the far off shattering walls and the labored breathing of the three travelers. Amon's thoughts raced as he ran through the schematics of the building in his mind. He and Michael had quickly eliminated the airways as a point of entry since they could not be forced open from the outside. Robin could possibly have burned through the walls…but they'd been afraid she'd draw too much attention. Now, though, survival was their only imperative. Robin's survival.

Amon's planning was broken off abruptly as Robin stopped in front of him as the walls of the tube shook around them.

"Robin. We have to keep moving."

"I know," she said, "but-"

Whatever she'd been about to say was cut off as a massive rumbling sounded directly overhead. Karasuma's terrified eyes sought out his own in the dim light. "Amon!" she cried. "The support walls! They're coming right down-"

Amon's heart raced as time slowed, adrenaline shocking him into motion. He dove for Robin in the tiny tunnel, covering her body with his own and pushing her out of the way in one quick motion. He faintly registered Karasuma's scream as pieces of what used to be the wall began to crash into the ventilation shaft. Something massive hit his left leg, which he had thrown over Robin's slender hip, followed quickly by a smaller, sharper piece of debris that seemed to rip into his right forearm.

"Amon!" came a panicked cry below him.

His mind swam with the pain and adrenaline, starting to fade until two delicate hands grabbed onto his own, squeezing and pleading. '_Robin,'_ he thought, and his mind started to grow less foggy. '_Robin, Robin, Robin_.' He chanted it over and over in his head as his eyesight cleared.

"Karasuma," he said, his voice rough through the silt and dust. "I'm all right," he said tersely, heading off her inquiries. "We have to get Robin out of here, _now_. Keep moving."

He raised himself off of his ward with his one good leg and arm, walking almost crablike as she ventured once more into the space in front of them. He wasn't oblivious to her concerned looks, but her kindness and concern were not going to get them to safety.

"Keep moving, damn it," he said. Robin, duly chastised, seemed to almost sprint down the tunnel after Karasuma.

The pain started to spike again, coquettishly inviting him to the darkness of the unconscious, but he kept on with his chant. His goal.

'_Robin. Robin. Robin.'_

And then there was light; tiny pinpricks shining in the dimness as they reached a grated hatch. Karasuma struggled with the handle.

"Karasuma. Let Robin…" he mumbled.

She nodded and edged back toward Amon, switching places with Robin. Amon watched, with the fascination and horror he usually concealed from Robin when she used her craft, as flame bloomed and spread in a perfect circle on the metal door. Still, it didn't disintegrate- it needed a push.

"Karasuma," he said, knowing that his voice sound strained not only to himself. "We need to impact the door."

She nodded at him, drawing her gun as he tried to steady his own in the hand of his uninjured arm.

Blam Blam The sound ricocheted through the duct as the hatch fell open, letting in the dawning twilight. Karasuma and Robin made their way through the opening, each dropping easily to the ground only a few feet below. Amon angled his fall so that he landed on his good leg, but pain still radiated through the other.

"Amon!" Robin exclaimed as she bent to examine his mangled limb.

"We don't have time for that now," he snapped as he studied their surroundings. The shaft had led them through the underground complex and gradually upward to the very edge of the land where the Factory property met the water. Even now, the water lapped the slight incline in waves, spurred on by the explosions and Solomon boats that were beginning to enter the water.

"Karasuma, you have to get back up toward the entrance. You didn't see us escape. You didn't see us survive, understood?"

Karasuma stared back at him for one long moment, her eyes burning with some unnamed emotion. Then she dropped her head and sat heavily upon the rocky outcropping. "I understand. Although, off the record," she said as she turned toward Robin, her gaze still locked on his own, "I'm glad you _did_ escape. I'm glad you survived. And I'll do everything I can so that no one knows of the miracle that happened today."

Amon shifted his gaze to Robin and watched as her eyes filled with tears. Yet she didn't let any of them fall.

"Miho," she said softly. She moved toward Karasuma and, rather than collapsing on her like she'd done in Zaizen's office, as a daughter to her mother, she bent her head and placed a kiss on Miho's forehead. Like mother to daughter, Amon thought to himself, and couldn't help that moment of wonder that raced through him. Was she really acting the part of the Eve so quickly?

The moment was broken as Robin flung herself at Karasuma, hugging her tightly.

"Stay safe," Karasuma said. Then Amon found her eyes on his as she said, "Keep him safe too…and let him keep you safe." He watched as she raised her eyes to Robin's. "You two have each other to depend on now. Remember that…and remind him that it works both ways when you have to, ok?"

Robin nodded and gave Karasuma one last squeeze before letting her go. Karasuma walked toward him, then, looking over his injuries with worry in her eyes.

"I'll be fine," he said tersely, rather than show emotion at their parting.

Karasuma gave him a faint smile. "I know you will, if she has anything to say about it," she said, motioning with her head back toward Robin. "Keep her safe, Amon. And keep us all safe." There was sadness in Karasuma's eyes as she said this to him, reminding him of the duty he'd sworn to uphold.

"Understood," he said softly. "Miho," he whispered, her first name foreign on his lips. "I… keep your back to the wall."

To his surprise, she pulled him into a quick hug and he found himself feeling…regret that he would have to leave someone who had become, without him knowing it, important to him. He said nothing as she pulled away, watching as she began to pick her way up the rocky incline to meet Solomon above.

It was then that his body began to shake. Damn adrenaline wearing off, he thought to himself, and the world seemed to fade for a moment.

"Amon!" His name coming from that voice yanked him back.

"Robin," he said, looking down into her concerned eyes. It was then that he realized that she was wrapped almost completely about him, her willowy body supporting his own.

"You're hurt. Badly," she said when he tried to cut her off. "We have to get you some help."

"But first we need to get away."

"But…"

"Robin," he said tersely, "Your safety is more important than my own. If you are to be the Eve," he said more softly, "you need to get used to that fact."

As he watched her think this through, the light of sunrise framing her face; for a moment he couldn't help but think that this notion of the Eve may actually be true. His logical mind had accepted Toudo's narrative…but had rejected the biblical implications. Amon was a spiritual man who was wary of fanaticism. But was it really fanaticism when it was the truth?

He looked deeply into Robin's eyes as if to find the answers…but it seemed like she had found some of her own. Again, she seemed to morph from timid Robin into an all-powerful witch right before his eyes. She stood straight, gathering more of his weight to support on her own, and said, "How should we hide from Solomon?"

"We need to swim across the river and get into the woods beyond. From there we can find a car."

"Your car?" she asked as they shuffled toward the water.

"No. We can't let them know that we've escaped. We'll hide out until we can find an appropriate vehicle to commandeer."

"Steal, you mean," Robin said with a slight smirk.

Amon raised a brow. "Commandeer. Now, let's get moving."

Amon forced the fear of capture back into his heart as they made their way into the river, hoping that the adrenaline would once more spike so that he could push through the pain. But the going was tough as they'd decided to leave on all their clothing and coats- there was no sense in trying to run away undetected if they left a path of clues for Solomon to find. Still, halfway through the water, Robin and her clean strokes in front of him, his good arm began to weaken, his good leg barely compensating for the mangled state of the other.

So he started the chant again. '_Robin. Robin. Robin. Stroke. Stroke. Robin. Robin.'_ And then they were at the shore on the other side.

Amon tried to stand up on the sliding sand, but found himself barely able stay upright. Then a firm arm wrapped around his waist, helping him to pull himself up the bank. He looked at Robin, giving her a slight nod of thanks. By the time they reached the road, Robin was practically dragging him along, his one leg now completely useless, except to help give a little push so the other could do all the work. Stealth was an impossibility and Amon was quickly realizing that he'd have to give Robin a verbal driving lesson if they were ever going to make it out.

But since there were no cars at their position, he didn't have to worry about that yet.

"Fuck," he said softly, ignoring Robin's wide eyed expression at this curse. "We're going to have to go on foot…"

"No." Amon blinked at looked down at Robin who was wearing a face more stubborn than he'd ever seen.

"Excuse me?" he asked, trying to allow some of his usual hauteur to enter his tone.

"Amon," she said slowly, as if speaking to a child. He tried to stand a little straighter in protest. "You are in no condition to be walking anywhere. And," she said, as he tried to interrupt, "how are you going to keep me safe if you collapse in the middle of the road for all of Solomon to see?"

She had a point, as much as he hated to admit it. If they stopped now, thought, he wasn't sure if he was ever going to be able to get back up again. His vision swam and he tried to shake his head to clear it, almost falling over and taking Robin with him.

"Amon," she said urgently. "We need to sit you down."

"Away from the road," he mumbled and barely registered it as Robin led him into the woods, through a copse and onto a bed of leaves.

He faintly heard her soft murmurs as she inspected his injuries, though he'd been through enough to know it wasn't good. Now that the adrenaline was fading, his body enduring the resultant shakes, he could feel every injury tenfold. His leg was probably broken, his shoulder dislocated, and the arm that came from it, most likely, shattered. He'd been knocked on the head at some point of their journey and that was throbbing painfully. His ribs had taken some abuse. But he knew that the worst of it all was the lacerations he'd sustained when he'd taken the brunt of collapsing wall. He felt the blood streaming from his body like the grasp he had on the waking world…fading…disappearing…

"Amon!" Someone was yelling in his ear. But who? Oh, Robin. But why? He wanted to sleep so very much…and she was shaking him. Had they fallen asleep together? He felt her body pressed up against his own and tried to raise his hands to trace her gentle curves, but they didn't seem to want to move. So instead he tried to focus on her words…soft…demanding…but they flittered in and out…

"_Amon…stay with me…please…to stay alive…need you…I lo…"_

But the warmth of darkness was too strong…and he faded.

* * *

tbc... 


	3. Chapter 2: Awareness

**Chapter 2- Awareness**

**A/N**: This chapter takes place during Amon's sixth month of recovery after the events of the Factory.

Huge thanks to Auntie Mom for the continued wonderful beta!

* * *

_Month Six_

The first cigarette of the day was always the best. The anticipation, the way the addiction pulled at you, making you beg for it until you were able grab the pack, tap one out, slip it between your lips, and light up… heaven. Still, to him, smoking wasn't about edginess and withdrawal. It was more about giving in to a lazy sort of hedonism moments after you awoke.

Never let it be said that Nagira couldn't turn even the most annoying and costly of addictions into the ultimate, most natural, pleasure.

Usually, he savored that first cigarette, taking long, slow drags, holding it in for as long as he could till he let it out through his mouth and nose. He'd lean back in the chair next to his bed, pushing every thought of impending cases and mindless litigation far away. Then he'd light another cigarette, which wasn't as good as the first, but was made almost better by a casual stroll in his favorite coat down the road to the office.

Most mornings, that first smoke and walk down the streets of Tokyo was what he looked forward to.

But today he smoked a little more quickly, eager to get some nicotine after hours aboard a non-smoking flight. And his gait, when he got out of the terminal, while moderate, was anything but leisurely. In fact, it was pretty damn determined.

Nagira let the grin that had been playing hide and seek across his face all day, making flight attendants blush and the little old lady sitting next to him titter like a schoolgirl, come out in full force once again. Damn, if he didn't check himself, he'd be skipping.

It wasn't like this trip was going to be all roses. Amon was going to be a pain in the ass for most of it, his cold and haughty act made even worse since he'd been on a bed pan and sponge bathed for almost six months. (Though Nagira couldn't see how the second part of the situation was all _that_ bad considering some of the nurses he'd seen on his visits to the clinic.) And when the inevitable conversation came up about a certain little bird…well, Nagira was going to have to do a hell of a lot of damage control to stop Amon from running out of his hospital bed, full tilt.

Still…sure, dealing with his brother was pretty damn annoying and costly at times, but he couldn't help but love getting under Amon's skin, poking at him, showing a lazy sort of brotherly affection that he knew Amon couldn't handle. Even though they hadn't spent that much time together as boys, Nagira had learned early on that even a laid back, easy going sort of guy could irritate Solomon's best hunter with only a few words and an insinuating comment. And damn if that didn't make him grin like an ass. Sure, Amon got pissed, taking that lord of the manor tone. He could whoop his big brother if he was really in the mood. But that didn't really matter to Nagira anymore, if it ever had.

After five months of not knowing whether or not he'd be able to piss his little brother off ever again…well, he knew that first conversation was going to be well worth the toxicity.

* * *

"Where is she?"

Nagira sighed as he entered the clinic room. "What? No 'How are you, big bro? Is that a new coat you're wearing? A haircut?' Or, how 'bout even 'It's great to see you, Nagira. I've missed you so?'"

Amon just scowled back at him and replied in a tone which could have been considered lethal, but only if the speaker hadn't been wrapped in a baby blue hospital gown. "Where is she?"

"She's safe," Nagira said simply. "And that's all you're getting for now."

"Excuse me?" Amon said, biting off every word. "I hope you're aware that I am her warder and that her situation is of my utmost concern."

"No, actually, your health is." Nagira stifled a chuckle as he watched Amon struggle against his bed sheets. "Settle down, settle down. Jeez, you've always been a shitty patient, ever since we were kids. I remember when you got the chickenpox…man, were you a pain in the ass. Always wanting to scratch at them…"

"While this little slice of some Rockwellian fantasy you have about our childhood may be entertaining to some, it is not to me. I ask you again, where is she?"

Nagira rolled his eyes, shrugging off his coat and laying it over the small couch at one end of the room. The very couch that he'd slept on way too many nights just a few months ago. Sure, the place was nice- he'd paid good enough money so that it ought to have been. Somehow, though, soft cream walls and Egyptian cotton didn't really balance out watching your kid brother lay like a broken heap of matches on a hospital bed.

He sat on the stool next to his brother's bed. "Amon. She's safe. I promised you I'd keep her that way and that's what I've done. But," he raised up a hand to stop his brother's questions, "I'm not telling you where she is."

"And why not?"

Nagira couldn't help but smirk at the petulant tone. "Because, if I tell you, you'll get some cockamamie scheme into your head to sneak out of this hospital and go find her. I know, for a fact, that your body isn't ready to do that."

Amon sat up quickly, anger in his eyes. That look, however, was replaced almost immediately with weariness.

Nagira's heart broke just a little bit to see it. "Little brother, you're not going anywhere for a while. The doctors say that you've made an almost miraculous recovery, which, believe me, considering your stubborn streak, doesn't surprise me, but that you've still got a few months of therapy before you can be walking normally, not to mention running any marathons."

"I thought there was such a thing as doctor/patient confidentiality," Amon said icily.

"Not in this place," Nagira replied simply. Then he just couldn't hold back what was on his mind, "Damn it, Amon, when you got here the doctors couldn't even believe you'd survived as long as you had. The broken leg, arm, screwed up shoulder, blood loss, massive concussion…how the hell did you get out of the Factory?"

"I walked."

Nagira's laugh boomed out before he could stop it. "You're a piece of work, you know that?"

"How did I…get here after we escaped?" When Nagira stayed silent, Amon huffed, "If you're not going to tell me anything about Robin, you can at least tell me how I got to Switzerland, of all places."

'Always gathering information, aren't you?' Nagira thought with a soft smile. He wasn't fooled by how quickly Amon dropped the subject of Robin. They'd get back to it, eventually, and Amon would go after the truth like a pit bull. For now, he thought that he'd lull his brother into a false sense of security, making him think that he'd accepted not knowing the truth. Well, two could play at that game. Lawyers were trained to reveal their information slowly and with great thought to the larger situation. And Nagira was a much better lawyer than most people realized.

Nagira leaned back in his chair, rooting around in his voluminous pockets to find his packet of cigarettes. Taking his time to light one and inhale, ignoring the no smoking sign hanging discretely over his head, he was all too aware of the furious stare directed at him by a pair of slate gray eyes.

Smirking slightly, he said, "Well, I'm sure there's no harm in telling you about that." He exhaled slowly, pausing his narrative to study the way that the smoke swirled off the end of his cigarette, trailing upward and spreading into a hazy cloud.

"Nagira…" Amon growled.

He sighed, "Ok, ok, keep your pants on." Nagira hid his grin as he reached over and grabbed Amon's medical chart. "You sure are riled up. Wonder if they need to add a sedative to this list…" he trailed off, watching in barely contained amusement as Amon's eyes opened wide in a combination of disbelief and panic.

"You wouldn't dare…"

"Of course not," Nagira said. "As long as you behave yourself I won't have Helga give you the sleepy pills, ok?"

The disgust-filled look he received from his brother was answer enough.

"Well, nobody could find the two of you after the destruction of that freaky building- to be honest, they all thought you were dead. That Miho chick seemed a bit too happy at first, but then she started playing the role of grieving coworker."

"And did you play the role of grieving brother?" came Amon's sardonic question.

"Nope."

Nagira chuckled at his brother's veiled, yet still noticeably indignant, expression. "Because I knew you two weren't dead. It just wasn't possible. I didn't really have a clue about what had happened with Zaizen down there at the time, but…I just knew."

"That's hardly evidence enough for such a hypothesis."

"So says the guy who seems to have a sixth sense about most things and hunts on a combination of skill and instinct?" Nagira asked, tauntingly. Deciding to give Amon a break, he went on, "But I got evidence of your survival soon enough. Imagine my surprise when I'd barely gotten back inside city limits and had a call from Robin on your cell phone."

"Robin!" Amon went ramrod straight. "But, if she used my STN-J phone, she could have been traced. Solomon would have been able to find…"

Nagira couldn't bear to see his brother so freaked out, so he waved his hands, cutting him off. "Calm down, buddy. She used your _other_ phone. You know, the one you and I set up ages ago in case of emergencies?"

"But I never told her about that phone."

"Good thing I did," Nagira said smugly. Ignoring his brother's put-out expression, he said, "Seems she remembered it from one of our conversations right before the whole Factory mess and called me. Poor kid was so freaked out over how banged up you'd gotten, that she was willing to turn herself in if it meant saving your sorry scalp."

Amon went stock still. "She wouldn't…"

Nagira shrugged. "She might have. But I made sure she didn't have to make that choice. As soon as enough of the Solomon trucks had moved away from the area in the woods where you were hiding, I tracked your GPS signal and picked the two of you up. Then I brought both of you to a doctor friend of mine to get you checked out."

"Someone knows that Robin's alive? Nagira, you shouldn't have made her presence known to others so soon after our 'death.' The danger of her discovery…"

Nagira became abnormally interested in watching the smoke as it tapered off the end of his cigarette. "Honestly, I don't think either of us were really worried about that at the time. We seemed to be more concerned about saving your life, though after the grief you give me, I sometimes wonder if it was worth it. But," Nagira held up his hand, stopping his brother's next tirade, "I used a friend of mine who I trust implicitly. He's not related in any way to Solomon. In fact, the only witches he's probably ever seen have been the ones in the Wizard of Oz, so he'd think someone was selling him the Brooklyn Bridge if he was told they were real. Don't worry, he didn't get either of your names. He did a superficial exam of Robin to make sure the poor kid didn't have hypothermia, then set to work on you."

Amon still looked pissed, but seemed to take him at his word. "And then what happened?"

"Jack, that's the doc, realized that your injuries were too serious. So I used my formidable charm and contacts to get the three of us shipped off to Switzerland. I got you to the clinic, they saved your life, and now here we are." Nagira didn't need to tell Amon the rest of it; how he and Robin had each held one of Amon's hands on the chartered flight, how she'd led him in the first prayer he'd spoken in at least 15 years, how they'd taken shifts as Amon lay comatose…

No, he didn't need to know anything about that. Because Nagira was sure his brother wouldn't be able to process it, to get that people in his life actually cared about him enough to do everything they could to keep him alive.

"And Robin?" came Amon's anticipated question.

"She's safe," Nagira said simply. He unfolded himself from the visitor's chair, ignoring Amon's sputtered protests.

"Get some sleep baby brother," he said as he walked out the door. Under his breath he said, "You're going to have to deal with what's happened to Robin soon enough."

* * *

During the first few days of Nagira's visit, Amon found himself growing increasingly frustrated at his brother's evasion of the topic of Robin. Each time he asked Nagira about her whereabouts, his brother would just smile enigmatically and say that she was perfectly fine and safe. A few times he slipped when he told Amon stories about his recovery, mentioning Robin's presence in the room during doctors' visits and progress reports. But, just as quickly, Nagira clammed up, refusing to confirm or deny whether she was still in Switzerland.

Amon was going to kill him.

Not knowing about Robin was affecting him more than he anticipated. It wasn't that he distrusted his brother's word- Nagira had actually done a much better job of keeping Robin safe than he ever had. Intellectually, he knew much of his frustration was over the fact that, by withholding information, Nagira was stunting Amon's ability to plan for his next move after he left the hospital.

Yet…there was something more to the edginess that had settled over him since Nagira had walked through the door. Something more to it than mere aggravation over the inability to strategize. It took a great deal of analysis for Amon to realize what he was feeling, but not as much time to be freaked out over the implications.

He was worried. He was so worried about Robin that ice seemed to creep into his veins, traveling to his heart and freezing it solid.

Amon tried to force logic back into the equation, reasoning that it made sense that he was worried about her safety. He still had many of the same concerns that he'd had before his brother's arrival. The extent of her craft…the possibility of Solomon capturing the world's most powerful witch.

But…who was he really worried about? The witch, or the girl?

Something akin to fear, having nothing to do with her powers and having everything to do with her power over him, shocked his system. Amon heard the corresponding acceleration of the heart monitor and willed the beats to slow. The last thing he needed was to be pumped with more drugs that would muddy his mind.

Yes. That was it. This illogical fear was simply a product of medication. The emotions he was experiencing had to be a side-effect of his treatment.

When he looked at the situation clinically, his feelings were quite simple. Robin had been, for a time, a colleague and, perhaps, a friend. Then she became a powerful entity, a player in Solomon's game who was quickly morphing from pawn to queen. And he was the knight in charge of keeping her out of danger. Being her warder required objectivity, vigilance, and above all, a certain amount of distance.

Sedatives and i.v. bags couldn't tell him otherwise.

* * *

A few days later, Amon looked up as his brother entered the room, duffle bag in hand.

"Going somewhere?" he asked.

"I do have a law practice to run, you know. But don't worry," Nagira said, cutting off Amon's reply, "I'll be back as soon as I can. Be good to the doctors. Oh, and let that Yvette chick give you a sponge bath even if you feel up to a shower. And make sure that she's wearing one of those white nurse costumes that you can 'accidentally' splash the top of."

Amon just stared disbelievingly at his brother. It was a wonder that they shared any common blood at all.

As Nagira walked out the door, though, Amon realized exactly what his brother had been doing by talking about his own prurient fantasies. He was diverting Amon's attention so he could make a hasty exit. It seemed, once again, that they were more alike that he tended to realized.

"Nagira," Amon called out, stilling his brother as he passed through the door frame.

"Where is she?"

"Amon, I told you…"

For a moment, just a moment, Amon let those feelings, the ones he was so sure were just the side effects of too much medication and bed rest, out and let them show on his face. "Please. I need to know."

He watched as his brother turned around, his face curiously blank for one of the first times Amon could remember. Then the facade fell and his brother looked utterly weary.

Panic filled every part of him, adrenaline coursing through his veins, "Did you lie to me? You said she was safe. Is she…?" Amon couldn't even say the word, four little letters meaning nothingness.

"No, Amon," Nagira said softly, "she's not dead. She's safe, like I said."

"_Where. Is. She_." Amon asked, threateningly.

Nagira seemed to pause, weighing something in his mind. Then, it seemed a decision was made.

"She's in Europe."

* * *


End file.
